


Making a List

by runs_in_the_family



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Christmas Themed Sex Puns!, Dirty Talk, Dry Humping, Lap Sitting?, M/M, Mentions of Face-Fucking, Mentions of anal fingering, Spoilers for Black Christmas 1974, Yes that movie really contains both a villain named Billy and a character name Barb, mentions of anal sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 22:39:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17130047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runs_in_the_family/pseuds/runs_in_the_family
Summary: Christmas Eve is a write-off, as far as Steve is concerned, and all he wants is to go to sleep and see the end of it.Billy doesn't believe that's true. He's sure there must be something else Steve wants. Something special that he wants for Christmas.





	Making a List

**Author's Note:**

  * For [missroserose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missroserose/gifts).



> To missroserose
> 
> Happy Harringrove Gift Exchange/whatever holiday you might be celebrating! I hope you enjoy this. If not then...I'm so sorry.

 

* * *

 

 

       When Steve would wake in the middle of the night, his skin was often soaked. Sweat plastering his hair to his cheeks, weighing his clothes so they clung and stuck. When Steve would wake in the middle of the night, he was usually shaking. Sometimes there’d be tears in his eyes. Sometimes he’d move under his covers and realise that he’d stained his shorts.

       He’d feel the warm patch pressed against his cock and his eyes would fall shut in embarrassment. He wouldn’t remove them, though. Wouldn’t save himself from having to rise for school the next morning with a crusted, white blemish on his crotch. Instead, he’d roll over and turn his face against his pillow. He’d hate himself for a moment and then pray for a dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

       His parents had extended the invitation to him. Provided he wore the suit, styled his hair correctly and lied about his college prospects, he was more than welcome to join them at the Morton’s Christmas Eve party.

       Steve had politely declined.     

       His surrogate family for the evening was a group of sorority girls being harassed by a psychotic killer. He conceded that renting _Black Christmas_ likely wasn’t the best way to imbue himself with the holiday cheer he was so sorely lacking, but it was something to do. A distraction from the aloneness.

       Aloneness, not loneliness. He’d assured himself of that distinction. He was alone, not lonely, and alone was nothing new.

       Accustomed as he’d become to being on his own, however, there was something particular about aloneness on Christmas Eve. Something that brought it so close to loneliness that he’d needed the distraction.

       So, in lieu of the girlfriend he didn’t have to curl up with and the family he didn’t have to eat dinner with, he had microwave popcorn and a co-ed’s corpse being stuffed into an attic.

       Living room fire crackling beside him, tree lights sparkling in the far corner, Steve remained indifferent to his greeting card surroundings and quietly watched as the film’s camera roamed the large sorority house, giving him a front-row look through the killer’s eyes. If the aim was to build tension, he wasn’t sure it was working. He’d seen enough of these movies to know that every girl there was cannon fodder. The nervous one and the one with the glasses and…

        He’d never watched _Black Christmas_ before. He’d expected blood-splattered snow and poor acting. What he hadn’t expected was “Barb”. Barb, the tough brunette, threatening the obscene crank caller who’d been tormenting the movie’s leads. Foul mouthed and hard-partying, a girl a thousand miles from the one he’d barely known.

       The name shouldn’t have caught him off guard the way it had. The character was a character and a name was just a name. But it had struck him the moment he’d heard it and Steve may not have seen _Black Christmas_ but he knew that every girl was cannon fodder. The nervous one and the one with the glasses and…Barb.

       He’d spent an hour waiting for the inevitable murder, the moment that Barb would meet her end. He’d nursed a steadily staling bowl of popcorn, trying to focus on the plot and not on the itch in the back of his mind. The promise that she would die, and that he would have to watch it.

       It was an itch not unlike the one that plagued him on similar nights of aloneness. Nights when, with nowhere to go and nothing to do, he would sit by the pool and stare at an empty deck chair.

       As the camera moved up the staircase and edged towards a closed bedroom door, the tension Steve had been resisting began to bubble up within his chest. He adjusted himself on the couch, horsing a fistful of cold popcorn into his mouth and trying not to give in to the mounting dread.

       She was lying on the bed, asleep. The killer was lurking in the shadows. A backing track of children singing carols filled the room and Steve couldn’t seem to sit still.

       Any moment, Barb would die. Alone.

       A psychotic mumbling started to rise from the television’s speakers. The killer was calling to her, a low whisper that pricked at Steve’s ears. Telling her it was alright. Calling her pretty. Whispering his name in a horrifying murmur.

       “ _It’s Billy_.”

       In one frustrated movement, Steve snatched the remote control and flicked the TV off.

       “Fuck this.” He muttered, hurling the control at a nearby cushion and pushing himself from the couch.

       If it was a choice between a Christmas Eve spent lonely or haunted, Steve would’ve rather an early night.

 

* * *

 

 

       He’d barely had a chance to drift off before he heard it.

       As a child, Steve would stay awake as long as possible on Christmas Eve. Flashlight gripped beneath his blanket, waiting for the first audible sign of hooves on the roof. He’d lie awake for hours, ready to sneak downstairs and steal a glimpse of a red suit.

       What stirred him from his half-slumber wasn’t reindeer on the rooftop. It was carolling, loud and unnatural, coming from his backyard.

       Hazy and frustrated, Steve rose from his bed and crossed towards the window. He peered through his blinds to the pool lights below, knowing that he hadn’t turned them on. Immediately, he fell still.

       After a tentative pause, he headed straight for his door.

        

* * *

 

 

       “What the hell are you doing here?” He called out, making his way down the steps.

       The singing ceased almost immediately. As Steve neared the longue chair, Billy seemed to settle deeper into his spot on it, crossing his ankles and raising a cigarette to his lips. 

       When he reached the poolside, Steve just scoffed.

       “Actually, I don’t care. Just get the hell out.”

       Billy’s head lolled to the side. A grin broke out around his filter.

       “Not a Crosby fan, pretty boy?” A quick glance at Steve’s appearance stretched Billy’s grin further. “Were you asleep? Christ, it’s barely ten o’clock.”

       “I’m not in the mood, alright?” Steve gestured back towards the house. “I want you gone.”

       A mock incredulity seeped onto Billy’s face. Sitting up, he plucked the cigarette from his lips and frowned at Steve in faux disbelief.

       “But Stevie…it’s Christmas Eve.”

       In one fluid motion, Billy sat forward and swung his legs either side of the lounge, boots meeting concrete with a heavy thud. He stared up at Steve, face painted with a hurt that was almost convincing.

       “I mean...” He shook his head. “I came all the way here to see you. Wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year –”

       “So ring the goddamn bell like a normal human being.” Steve said, flat and unamused. “Don’t break into my backyard, you fucking psycho.”

       The hurt seemed to become a fraction less forced. Billy took a slow, deep drag from his cigarette, never breaking Steve’s gaze. As he released a long exhale, he shook his head again.

       “You know name calling lands you on the naughty list, right?”

       “Get out.” Steve said, blankly.

       Silence followed. Steve watched as shadows danced back and forth across Billy’s face, the spark in his eyes coming and going with the soft waves of the pool water.

       The picture of wild, bloodthirsty eyes flooded his mind, staring at victims through darkened doorways.

       After a moment, an amused grunt broke through the quiet.

       “That’s familiar.” Billy remarked. “That feel familiar?”

       Sighing, Steve turned his gaze to the heavens.

       “It’s so familiar to me.” The act continued. “You. ‘Get out’. Saying it like you’re some big badass, like I should be shaking in my boots.”

       The sound of snapping fingers rang out around them.

       “I got it!”

       Steve’s attention fell back when he heard the shuffle of denim. He watched as Billy rose up from his seat, felt himself straighten up as two leisurely steps closed the distance between them.

       “Byers’ place, right?” Billy asked, stopping inches shy of too close. “Shit. Didn’t really hold your own too well that night, did you?”

       Steve could feel his hand twitching, itching to become a fist.

       “Yeah, well, wasn’t really a fair fight.”

       The surprise on Billy’s face seemed genuine this time. He raised his brows, seemingly mulling the remark over as he took another drag.

       “Why?” He asked through a cloud of smoke. “Because you sucker punched me?”

       The memory of cartilage collapsing beneath his knuckles sent another twitch through Steve’s fingers.

       “I was thinking more the plate over my head.” He countered.

       A smug grin inched across Billy’s face.

       “Yeah.” He bit his lip slightly. “Fun though.”

       “Man, what are you doing here?” Steve demanded, resolve waning. “If you won’t get the hell out, at least tell me what it is you want.”

       There was a slow change in Billy’s expression then. His smile shortened, then vanished, and his gaze flittered over Steve’s shoulder.

       “Where’re the folks?” He asked, nodding towards the house.

       Before Steve had a chance to respond, Billy brushed past him. He turned and watched the casual stroll as Billy surveyed the place, never venturing too far from the pool but still too close to his home for Steve’s liking.

       “What, are you spying on me now?” He called out, hoping to bring him back.

       The absence of a reply was as good as a confirmation, and a blanket of tension slowly settled over their scene.

       The longer the silence stretched, the tighter the knot in Steve’s stomach became.

       Slowly, Billy turned his trajectory towards the pool’s spring board. After a moment’s pause, he flicked his all-but-gone smoke onto the concrete and mounted the white plank in one heavy step.

       Steve stared across at him, watched his leather boots inch forward until the board began to dip towards the water’s surface.

       “Know when they’ll be back?” Billy asked, gazing down into the pool.

       The question prompted an uncertain pause.

       To Steve’s mind, there were only so many reasons why it would have been asked. There were the likely ones, the ones that involved taking advantage of a house that had a pool, no parents, and a supply of booze in the kitchen. The ones that involved inviting girls who didn’t know better to come and have fun.

       And then there was the longshot. The one that he didn’t want, but did. The one that he knew, were he to entertain it as a possibility, would only lead to disappointment.

       Longshot or no, it moved him to speak.

       “Later.” He said, cautiously. “Midnight, maybe.”

       Billy nodded at the answer, seemingly digesting it as he watched the water.

       “You’ll be fast asleep by then, though.” He observed.

       Steve tried to keep hold of his anger, tried to quash the anticipation rising in his chest.

       “What makes you say that?” He asked, watching as Billy inched closer to the board’s edge.

       Blue eyes rose to meet his, brow cocked.

       “Don’t wanna be awake when Santa gets here, right?”

       A frustrated breath shot from Steve’s lungs and with it, every crumb of naïve hopefulness. The disappointment washed over him, near instantly turning to a seething self-derision.

       “Jesus Christ.” He scoffed.

       “Nope, he’s tomorrow.”

       Flooding with a self-loathing usually reserved for later in the night, Steve stared into the sky and shook his head.

       “Man, just get out. Just leave me alone and go – ”

       His pleas were cut short by a heavy thump as Billy jumped back onto the concrete. Still fuming, Steve slowly returned his gaze to his uninvited guest.

       “Seriously, Harrington, what is with the Scrooge act?” Billy seemed genuinely irritated. “I came here to wish you a merry Christmas – ”

       “You said that already.” Steve threw out. “So why don’t you wish me a merry fucking Christmas and go annoy the shit out of somebody at home?”

       A stillness settled between them again. Steve waited for several quiet seconds, expecting a sudden burst of anger or another stream of ridicule. He waited for Billy to stalk back towards him, to shove a hand against his chest or simply devour Steve’s space with his presence.

       But nothing. No smug grin or snide comment. No need for his ready fingers to become a full fist.

       Just a silent stare that became, the longer Steve held it, more impossible to read.

       Eventually, a minute smile came and went. Then a shake of blonde curls.

       “I’m not gonna do that.”

        Despite the frustration swarming his system, a speck of defiant curiosity made it impossible not to ask.

       “Why not?”

       As if the question were an invitation, Billy slowly began to move towards him. His expression never changed, gaze never faltered. By the time he stopped, he and Steve were within arm’s reach of each other.

       After a beat, Billy shrugged slightly.

       “Can’t leave you all alone on Christmas Eve.”

       Previous disappointment still an open wound, Steve didn’t allow himself to read into the remark.

       “Please do.” He insisted. “I want you to.”

       Billy scratched at his chin and moved a step closer.

       “That really what you want?” He asked, miniscule frown denting his brow. “That’s your big Christmas wish?”

       “Yeah, asshole, that’s my Christmas wish.” Steve sneered.

       When Billy didn’t budge, Steve’s patience vanished. Rolling his eyes, he made a move towards the house, only for a heavy palm to block his path.

       He glanced down at the hand held to his chest, then turned a glare to it’s owner. The response was a half smile.

       “Don’t believe you.” Billy challenged. “You gotta have a better wish than that.”

       Steve flinched slightly when he leaned in closer.

       “There’s gotta be something better that you want.”

       The blockade began to fall away, fingers dragging slightly as it dropped.

       Before Steve could say a word, Billy was pulling away and walking back to his previous spot on the lounge.

       “Something special.” He called over his shoulder. “Something you’ve been too scared to ask for.”

       As he watched him take his seat, Steve considered how far Billy was willing to go to provoke him. To humiliate him. To make him believe it, just for a moment, so he could destroy him afterwards.

       He watched Billy settle back against the lounge, arms draped across the rests, head tipped back to stare up at him. A dozen alarm bells went ignored as blue eyes looked him up and down and a small hum rose into the air.

       “Come on, Harrington.” Billy raised his hips slightly. “Sit on Santa’s lap and tell me what you want for Christmas.”

       Desperate to act before Billy saw his blush, Steve stalked towards the chair and gripped him by the collar. All through the struggle, as Steve pulled him up and dragged him from his seat, Billy’s cackle echoed around the garden.

       When he’d hauled him far enough, Steve shoved Billy from his arms and let him stumble across the concrete.

       “Get out.” He growled.

       Billy steadied himself and threw his shoulders back. He licked across his grin, clearly delighting in the reaction.

       “Come on, pretty boy.” He smiled. “Got a nice big sack for you to play with.”

       “Get out!” Steve yelled, praying that only he could hear the tremble in his voice.

       “Okay!” Billy raised his hands. “Okay, Jesus, fine. So fucking touchy.”

       Steve fought hard to keep himself from shaking. He watched Billy straighten his collar, then saw him throw a glance around their fighting ground. Eventually, his eyes settled over Steve’s shoulder.

       “Gimme my jacket.” He spat, pointing towards the pool furniture.

       Rolling his eyes, Steve turned to retrieve whatever leather piece Billy had brought with him. He’d barely looked away before he heard the rush of boots behind him, and felt two hands clamp down on his shoulders.

       The shuffle was brief. Mere seconds and Steve found himself unceremoniously shoved into a nearby deck chair. Before he had a moment to collect himself, he had the full weight of Billy Hargrove straddling his lap.

       “Guess we gotta do it this way.”

       “Get off me!” Steve snarled, wrenching himself from Billy’s grip.

       A firm shove pinned him to the chair.

       “First things first, Harrington.” Billy beamed down at him, still wrestling resistant hands. “You been a good boy this year?”

       Steve could feel himself getting warmer. He wanted desperately to be free of the added weight.

       “Bet mommy and daddy think you have.” Billy dipped down to catch his eye. “Bet everybody thinks you have.”

       Steve fell still as the pressure on his lap shifted. When it moved at just the right angle, he felt himself squirm in the seat, and all of the self-derision came flooding back to him

       “Bet I know the truth, though.” Billy winked.

       “Get the fuck off me.” Despite the added expletive, Steve knew he was begging at this stage.

       For a second, he thought it might have worked. Billy stalled, seemed to take in the look on his face. Then he pressed in closer.

       “Tell me what you want for Christmas.”

       Steve shut his eyes and threw his head back. There was a hand clasped around his jaw in seconds, pulling him down and holding him firm.

       “Stevie, look at me.” Billy sang, bittersweet.

       Too busy praying the red from his cheeks, Steve ignored the request. When Billy’s voice reached his ears again, the tone was vastly different. Softer. More sincere.

       “Look at me.”

       The speck of curiosity crept back, pushing him to open his eyes.

       For a while, they both remained silent. Sat there, still, without a move or a sound. Eventually, Billy released his grip. He freed Steve’s jaw and unpinned his chest. His face was devoid of mockery. The glint in his eyes no longer shifted with the water.

       “Tell me what you want for Christmas.” He said, voice low.

       Steve dropped eyes, blinking away a sudden stinging.

       “I don’t – ”

       “Yeah, you do.” Billy said, nodding slightly. “Tell me what you want.”

       The answer sat as a dead weight on Steve’s tongue. He knew, though, that letting it out wouldn’t make him feel any lighter.

       As the silence stretched, both of them waiting for Steve to speak, Billy adjusted himself on Steve’s lap. This time, Steve caught the way Billy's breath stuttered when he did it. Noted the swallow that worked down his throat. And the way he wet his lips after.

       “I want that.”

       A new kind of smile crawled onto Billy’s face.

       “What?”

       “Tongue.” Steve said, quietly, not thinking before he spoke.

       The grin on Billy’s face stretched wider.

       “Tongue?” He mimicked, letting the tip of it dart past his lips.

       Steve shut his eyes for a moment and collected himself.

       “Your mouth.” He corrected, looking to Billy again. “I want your…mouth.”

       Satisfaction dripping from his lips, Billy ducked down and slowly pressed a kiss against his cheek.

       “Where?” He hummed. “What do you want it for?”

       Scattered glimpses of half a dozen dreams swam through Steve’s mind. Half a dozen settings, always the same result.

       “I don’t know.” He said, shaking his head.

       Billy sighed. He leaned back slightly, blue eyes boring into brown.

       “Liar.”

       The disapproval in his tone forced Steve’s gaze to drop. He stared at Billy’s lips, watched the tongue running slowly over teeth that seemed so sharp in the shadows.

       “I want to fuck it.”

       The moment he said it, Steve’s mouth went dry. His cheeks blazed and his stomach rolled.

       Billy didn’t seem phased by it. Smile ticking upwards again, he shifted closer, pushing gently on Steve’s lap.

       “That is disgusting.” He whispered. “Talking like that won’t get you off the naughty list.”

       A bolt of shame smacked Steve across the face.

       “Get off me.” He insisted, pushing at Billy’s stomach.

       When the demand wasn’t immediately met, Steve tried to make the move himself. He tried to stand, as though the weight on his lap was easily surmountable. As if everything were just a dream.

       The force with which he was pushed back down, heavy hands grounding him to the seat, was enough to convince him of the reality.

       “What else?” Billy asked, staring down at him.

       Still scolding himself for his first admission, Steve shook his head and looked away, blinking back another sting in his eyes.

       “Screw you.” He muttered.

       His eyes fell shut when a warm hand pressed against his cheek. Slowly, Billy’s thumb began rubbing back and forth across his skin, gently stroking his blush.

       “What else?” He repeated, softer.

       After a string of heavy breaths, Steve took one deep swallow. As the words worked their way up his throat, he felt a black hole open at the centre of his chest.

       “I wanna watch you.”

       The initial silence was excruciating. Then there was a brush of tongue against his jaw, and suddenly his skin was buzzing.

       “Watch me what?” Billy whispered.

       Pictures danced behind his lids, of Billy spread out, back arched.

       “You know…” Steve choked on his words. “You know when…”

       Billy shifted again, circling his hips.

       “What do you want to watch me do?”

       He could feel the void in his chest grow larger.

       “I want…want you to…with your fingers…”

       A smile pressed against his cheek

       “You wanna watch me fuck myself?”

       Whether it was the speaker, the words, or Steve simply falling into the void, something cut the tension wire that had wrapped around his lungs.

       He laughed, more shock and nerves than anything else, and nodded against Billy’s palm.

       The chair whined slightly as bodies stirred. Billy’s hands moved to the nape of Steve’s neck, holding him as he pressed his forehead to Steve’s.

       “What do you want to watch me do?”

       Slowly, Steve opened his eyes to dark lashes and a shining blue.

       “I wanna watch you fuck yourself.”

       He felt a twitch in his sweats, and the quick hum that reached his ears told him he wasn’t alone in feeling it.

       Billy nodded slightly against his brow. It seemed meant to encourage.

       “What else?”

       Apprehension slipping away, Steve reached forward and gripped Billy’s ass. He heard a small, surprised breath, saw a quick uptick in the corner of the grin.

       “This.” He said, voice feeling more his own.

       Billy arched back against his hands.

       “That?”

       “That.” Steve smiled. “I want that.”

       Before the question reached Billy’s lips, Steve was continuing down his wish list.

       “I wanna bend you over that stupid fucking car.” He said, heart thrumming in his ears.

       Excitement tugged at the corners of Billy’s smile.

       “Stupid fucking car?” He echoed.

       “Face down.” Steve continued. “Hold you there.”

       He was sure that the way Billy dragged against his thigh was deliberate. Another nod prompted him further.

       “Want you to make a mess.” He swallowed what remained of his nerves. “Have to clean yourself off the hood after.”

       “Shit.” The stutter seemed to escape Billy’s lips before he had a chance to stop it.

       Hearing it was like an shot of adrenaline. Steve’s hands moved up, held the base of Billy’s spine and dragged him closer.

       “Want to sit on your lap.” He breathed, hips grinding up.

       Billy pulled a hand from Steve’s neck and ran it over the growing swell in his own jeans.

       “You’d like it better without the clothes.” Billy assured him, voice a little breathy. “Sit you down, let you keep me warm. Tell you what a good boy your are.”

       The words alone sent a spasm through his muscles. Steve dragged up against the pressure on his lap, gasping as Billy moved with him.

       “You’d look perfect.” The whisper sank into his ear. “King Steve, up on his throne.”

       For the first time in over a year, he melted at the nickname.

       “Okay.” Billy breathed. “One more. You get one more.”

       He looked Steve in the eye and squeezed at the back of his neck.

       “What do you want?”

       Steve’s mind raced with every picture that had ever unmade him in his sleep. Every position and every location. Every shamefully clung-to memory that he’d pretended not to covet. All now a possibility. No longer a longshot.

       “I wanna make you scream.”

       The fingers at his neck became a sudden fierce claw. Billy blinked at him, shock and excitement flooding his eyes.

       “I’m not a screamer.” He warned, chewing on his grin.

       Steve only nodded.

       “I’m gonna make you scream.”

       From his front row seat, Steve could see the hint of red rising on Billy’s cheeks. He savoured all three seconds of the show, before Billy turned away and cleared his throat.

       “Alright, pretty boy.” He sniffed. “That’s your wish list?”

       Steve waited for him to glance back before nodding his answer.

       “Okay.” He wet his lips. “Now, I can’t give you all that tonight. Don’t wanna spoil you, you know? So you gotta decide.”

       He pulled back and stared down at Steve.

       “Pick one.”

       Immediately, Steve knew. From the moment Billy had looked him up and down and dared him to climb into his lap, it was what he’d wanted more than anything else. He wanted to drag Billy into the empty house, past the crystal angels and gold tinsel, and pull him to his room. Push him onto the bed where Steve had ruined himself so many times. Straddle him, kiss him, ride him, undo him. Feel him inside.

       It was the only Christmas present he wanted.

       With his decision made and answer poised on his tongue, however, Steve stopped short of saying as much.

       He looked to the face above him and his own voice echoed back at him, his frustrated demand of “tell me what it is you want”. When confronted with the query, the face had changed. Had fallen, dropped it’s dangerous spark.

       Only when he thought back on it did Steve see Billy. Finally, really see him.

       Someone who wasn’t spending their Christmas Eve at home. Someone who didn’t have a special someone to curl up with, or a happy family dinner to attend. Someone who’d come to the house of a near-stranger, ignored their requests for him to leave, and was promising them anything they wanted, so he could stay a little longer.

       “Can I ask for something else?” He ventured. “Not on the list?”

       Billy squinted at him, half smiling.

       “You been a good boy?”

       Steve grunted a laugh and nodded his head. The smile grew.

       “Sure.” Billy submitted. “What else do you want?”

       Retracting his grip and moving back slightly, Steve took a deep breath.

       “I want you to come inside.”

       Billy cocked a brow.

       “You been dreaming of a white Christmas, pretty boy?”

       Despite the ache in his chest, Steve managed a laugh.

       “No, Christ, I…I want you to come inside the house. With me.” He gave half a shrug. “Watch a movie.”

       Billy’s face cleared in a second, mouth shutting tight, eyes darkening. He sat back, setting a few more inches between them.

       “Why?” He asked, brows knitted in confusion.

       The reaction was enough to tell Steve that he’d made the wrong move. Regardless, he shrugged, tried for the longshot.

       “That’s what I want.”

       Watching Billy sigh and look away tore his chest in two.

       “I gotta be home soon.” Billy muttered, half-heartedly.

       Biting back a stream of inwardly-aimed vitriol, Steve only nodded.

       “But I can come inside.” Billy added, half turning back. “For a while.”

       The initial reluctance to look him straight on allowed Steve a few moments to smile in relief. When he noticed the eyes on him again, he couldn’t say for sure how much they’d caught.

       “You ever seen _Black Christmas_?” He asked, clearing his throat.

       Billy shook his head.

       “It’s pretty good.” He nodded. “Dude in it reminds me of you.”

       Another new smile, another he’d never seen, flashed across Billy’s face.

       “Yeah?”

       “Yeah.” Steve smiled. “He, ah, he shows up at this big house on Christmas Eve. Starts creeping around, saying all this filthy shit to the people who live there.”

       The smile grew into a full-blown grin.

       “Sounds about right.” He hummed. “You wanna watch it?”

       Before he answered, Steve considered it for a moment.

       “Nah.” He decided. “Kinda wanna watch something…less dark.”

       Billy shrugged, pushing himself up from Steve’s lap.

       “Whatever you want.”

       Before he got too far, Steve rose from the deck chair and tugged at Billy’s shirt, pulling his attention back.

       “What do you want for Christmas?” He asked.

       Billy paused only for a moment, before a more familiar grin dented his cheeks.

       “Pretty boy.” He purred. “You’ll wanna sit back down before you hear my wish list.”

 


End file.
